Sins of the Father

[Owl]

For some years a king had reigned over the veldt. Not a human king, of course, for Planet had no king and would tolerate no such excess. This king was an arathli, a great golden eagle who ruled from on high. Under his careful guidance his subjects had flourished. Starvation, conflict, fear- all those worldly worries became artifacts of the past, consigned to the annals of history by a force of almost otherworldly good.

But no king rules forever, and now the great lord’s days were at last drawing to a close.

The realization had sent his people into a frenzy. For weeks now they’d been flitting hither and yon across the plains, colorful shadows barely visible on the far horizon. They’d searched the village, pillaged the archives, tried every remedy and spell at their disposal. Nothing had worked. There was no force capable of undoing the ravages time had wrought upon their beloved king.

There was nothing for it, then- nothing but to take the last and most difficult step in a plan decades in the making.

It was late autumn when the drums began to sound, their steady beat inviting all and sundry to the grasslands just north of the village. There they would find an ancient stone amphitheater awaiting them. Carved from gold-streaked marble sometime in the distant past, today the grand structure played host to a small army of arathlial. Countless Zephyrs swirled to and fro, some embarking on last-moment errands, others returning with locals perhaps enticed by the drums. At the center of that golden storm stood three striking figures: a silver-streaked Zephyr, a blood-crimson West, and a gilded East half again as large as any other arathli present.

The god-king himself had mustered the strength to make one final public appearance.

For long moments the ancient East was silent, content to watch his flock of golden valkyries embark on their last and most vital mission. Only when an appropriate crowd had arrived, ushered in by his myriad attendees, did he at last speak.

Thank you all for answering my summons. He straightened to his full and fearsome height, though the movement clearly wearied him. I fear I must ask an impossible task of you. My children have been stolen away and imprisoned where I cannot reach them. Please, do what I cannot. Save them.

I’ll get you all there in one piece, the West announced, a note of smug pride in his voice. Companion?

I’m not your damned companion, The silver-clad Zephyr shot back, crest flicking in annoyance. She gave herself a head-to-talon shake and visibly pulled herself back together. But yes, our father is correct. Many of our siblings have been taken prisoner by our ancient enemies. Try as we might, we have not been able to reach them.

Not for lack of trying, her red brother added sourly. Clearly this was a sore subject for the lot of them.

We don’t have much time, any of us, but we need your help. My brother will open rifts between worlds. With any luck, you should land close to our siblings. Do whatever you have to to break them free.

Do this, and I will ensure you are rewarded. The looming East laughed, the sound swiftly devolving into a painful cough. My last act as lord. Only fitting, I suppose.

He turned, meeting the gaze of each new arrival in turn.

Please, my friends. Save my children. I wish to see my family reunited before I die.

---

Hello and welcome to my first bonding! I've been sitting on this idea since freakin' June, so I'm absolutely amped to finally get the ball rolling. A few notes and rules before we get started:

All the usual rules and regs are still in effect. Don't be a jerk and we'll all be just fine.

This bonding will close in approximately a month’s time. If you want a birb, please jump in before then! Due to this bonding’s format I won’t be able to incorporate any late arrivals.

I intend to post roughly every two weeks. Posts might come faster depending on my days off and how quickly folks post. I'll try to ping folks on Discord a couple of days before I post.

EDIT: Bring as many characters as you like, but please understand I have a limited number of birbs to hand out. Every player will walk away with at least one birb. I can't guarantee that every character will get one, unless fewer than nine characters show up. We'll see!

You’re welcome to bring as many shinies as you like, but they won’t be able to accompany you past the first step of the bonding.

The Watch Unending Zephyr is sending out a bunch of her Zephyr sisters to pick up bonding-goers. Feel free to have one drop by to pick your character up.

Please send me preferences! I'm terribad at handing out critters willy-nilly, so prefs really help me figure out who goes where. <3

[Owl]

Bonded:

1/1 North
    Razleva -- Yjrn
1/1 West
    Magnus -- Fr. Clarence
1/1 East
    Auner -- Ren
1/1 Zephyr
    Ih'ara -- Halrae
1/1 South
   Icandessa -- Zebey
1/1 Mistral
    Xaven -- Haelys
1/1 Tempest
    Fenwolf -- Haelys
1/1 Chinook
    Solise -- David
1/1 Boreas
    Jag -- Tuk-tuk


Attending:
Boone, Ren, Clarence, Haelys, Zebey, Tuk-tuk

[Owl]

Heavy Hangs the Crowned Head North
Speech: Bold #0024e1
Inspired by Roboute Guilliman and the Ultramarines

It takes a very specific kind of person to unite countless doctrines and ideologies under one flag. Though proving it will be the work of a lifetime, this North is confident she is precisely the right kind of person.

Disciplined, direct, and decisive, she takes her title of ‘queen’ deadly seriously. It’s her lot in life to lead, and she’s damn well going to do the best she can by her people. If that means tackling the ugliest problems the world has to offer, so be it. She’s up to the task. Her self-confidence is unshakable, and for very good reason: she’s every bit as good as she thinks she is. Statesmanship, negotiating, logistics and more seem like second nature to her. She could organize a thousand-arathlial flight to the moon with her eyes closed, and yet, every person under her command would feel as if she fought for them and them alone. There’s something inspiring about her, some upwelling of light and leadership that makes all and sundry fall in line. Under her guiding talon even the most disparate mess of soldiers could be reforged into a cohesive unit. If she embarks on a mission, she’ll do her utmost to see it through, personal and political costs be damned. ...not that she often has to pay those costs, mind you. She’s got a positively infuriating habit of pulling impossible victories out of her tail feathers on the regular. She shrugs it off as a natural consequence of her obsessive need to plan for every possibility. No one else is quite so certain.

Military hierarchies are notoriously rigid creations, and this warrior queen’s outlook on life is every bit as inflexible. Her way of doing things isn’t just the right way, it’s the only way, and any deviation from it is met with vociferous disapproval. Stubborn adherence to tradition means she’s slow to adapt to changing circumstances. All the backup plans in the world can’t prepare her for genuinely new situations, and should one appear, she’ll more than likely get caught with her proverbial pants down. Any interaction with other leaders is likely to end in disaster. She brooks no threats to her authority, regardless of their source or rank. She is the queen. What you are remains to be seen. Those who find themselves on her bad side find the world itself turning against them. She’s got connections in all sorts of places, many of which she’ll never admit to, and she’s not above exerting her authority to bring an errant underling back into the fold. Offense once taken is never forgotten. While she might not make you suffer for wronging her- such actions are beneath one of her station- you can be sure she’ll never again exert herself for your sake. Choose wisely, friend, for the queen is always watchful.

The single best word to describe this queen is ‘statuesque’. She’s huge, easily among the largest arathlial ever hatched on Planet, but she wears her massive size as if it were armor. Every movement is calculated, controlled, projecting ironclad confidence and complete control. Most of her feathers are a rich, saturated ultramarine, while her flight- and tail-feathers are a few shades lighter. The crest atop her head was likely once ice-blue; somewhere along the line it was dyed the same fierce gold as her eyes. It matches the arathli-scale crown of gilded laurels somehow affixed to her head.

Voice in the Abyss West
Speech: Bold #810b00
Inspired by Magnus the Red

When you strip away all the extraneous fluff ‘intelligence’ is a value-neutral trait. While it can be a powerful force for good, it can just as easily be turned to evil ends. No one embodies this duality of mind better than this West.

Atypically smart even for an arathli, he’s got the sort of effortless intellect that nuclear physicists can only dream of. Complex equations and esoteric philosophy come to him as naturally as breathing. But he isn’t content to sit back and rest on his laurels, oh no. Instead he pursues knowledge with the single-minded intensity of a hound tailing prey, ferreting out every iota of information he can get his grubby little talons on. What does it matter if a topic is convoluted, or half-forgotten, or right at the edge of our current understanding? All of that just encourages him to throw himself even more wholeheartedly into his studies. Most frustrating of all, he’s prone to bolts of insight from the blue, making sudden leaps of logic that revolutionize entire swathes of academia. No one else could look at two plus two and come up with fish, but he can, and somehow he can break it down well enough others can follow along. Pair that fearsome wit with a memory like a steel trap and you’ve got a towering intellect equally well-suited to teaching. He's more than happy to share what he knows so long as you’ll do the same in turn. Yes, he might gloat a little, preening at how superior he is to you, but can you really begrudge him a bit of well-earned ego?

And the answer there is: you absolutely can. All his curiosity and thirst for knowledge comes paired with an almost frightening capacity for ruthlessness. He rarely stops to think through the consequences of his actions, preferring to forge ahead regardless of what that might mean for others. In the end they’re all pawns on his chessboard anyway. If they aren’t smart enough to outmaneuver his manipulations, that’s on them, not him. Nothing infuriates him quite as much as being taken to task for his misbehavior, either- unless you try to deny him information. Then the ugly lurking beneath the polished academic facade really comes out to play. He’s downright vicious when it comes to taking information by force, a fact that has led him to make more than one ill-considered alliance in the past. There have been whispers that he owes someone, that he made a deal with a perhaps-literal devil in exchange for knowledge beyond mortal ken, but he dismisses those rumors out of hand. They’re just rumors... right?

Most academics are stereotyped as frail and fumbling. This one... isn’t. In fact, he’s among the physically largest of his siblings, only fractionally smaller than his North sister. Deep, somewhat desaturated red covers him from crest to talons, palest across his breast and darker towards the ends of his extremities. While he seems to have exhausted the magic he once used, a final remnant of it dances across his flight feathers in the form of electric blue runes. His eye- for he appears to have hatched with only one- all but glows a deep and baleful crimson.

Heart of the Sun East
Speech: Italic #e52800
Inspired by Sanguinius

He’s just like his father. For most of his siblings such a comparison would be an insult of the highest caliber, but for him... there’s no denying he’s everything his father was, and he proves it every second of every day.

‘Perfect’ isn’t a word often applied to living beings, and for good reason. Just this once, however, that vaunted descriptive is actually applicable. A creature of carefully-controlled moderation, this East embodies all the best aspects of a leader. He’s charming without fawning, bold without arrogance, clever without bludgeoning others over the head with his intellect. You’ll find him at the front of every cavalry charge and at the heart of every party, effortlessly adapting to every situation he finds himself in. A social chameleon par excellence, he’s got a knack for making everyone feel like the most important person on Planet, and somehow it manages to feel genuine. Even when the crowds have dispersed and the party’s over, he’ll still be there for you, picking up garbage and shooting the breeze like the commoner he decidedly isn’t. After all, rank is what you make of it. Some of his siblings use it as a hammer to beat others down with. He prefers to use it as an all-purpose tool- to lift others up, yes, but also to clear barriers only he can do away with. This suave East isn’t above using his good looks and silver tongue to sway hearts and minds to his cause, though he’s careful to limit the fallout of his actions as much as possible.

There’s an uncertainty beneath all that confidence, a faint brittleness he secrets away beneath layers of charm. The truth of the matter is the Prince doesn’t believe himself worthy of his station. As much as he pushes himself to be stronger, smarter, faster, better, in his mind he always falls an inch short. His sister was there first, did it better, showed him up before he even knew they were competing, and yet... how could he hate her for doing what comes naturally? Fate dealt both of them an unfair hand, and all they can do is bear up under its vagaries as best they can. So he works harder, pushes his limits a little more every day, forever chasing the ghost of something that never was. It haunts him day in and day out, even pursues him in his rare moments of rest. His dreams are strange and alien, full of visions he rarely understands- but some small handful of them come true. Somehow they’re always the worst ones, too, the ones he most hesitates to speak of, and he’s already loath to speak of his nocturnal visions. It’s easiest to hide that facet of himself away, pretend all’s well, that he doesn’t regularly dream of death and dismemberment and fates far worse.

His father might’ve been a king, but the prince is an Adonis. Every gorgeous inch of him is- there’s that word again!- absolutely perfect. A sunburst spreads across his feathers in slow motion, vibrant red spreading across his back to fade through orange flight feathers into gilded wingtips. His breast and underside fade to a shade of gold so pale they may as well be white- all save for the uncomfortably bloodred patch directly over his heart.

The Watch Unending Zephyr
Speech: Italic #f4cd39
Inspired by Little Kitten

For every famous commander elevated to fame there’s a thousand soldiers laboring unseen and unnoticed. There’s a strength in those faceless masses, and this Zephyr embodies its best qualities.

She cares, you see, about her family and her subordinates and everyone else touched by the long arm of her father’s law. They’re hers, not to rule but to safeguard, and she takes her duty as a guardian deadly seriously. Every move she makes is carefully considered beforehand, pros weighed against cons weighed against the lives that will inevitably be affected by her choices. She can’t be reckless, not when so many innocent lives are on the line. While that caution can make her seem weak, nothing could be further from the truth. There’s a quiet strength to her, the kind that’s rarely evident until the cards are down. While she’s the most in her element behind the scenes, she’s also the first to step up and take charge when disaster strikes. She’s always got a startlingly-detailed plan for any situation. Better yet, she’s got the tactical acumen and plain old common sense to adapt that plan on the fly. Put your trust in her and she’ll see you through to the other side- and once you’re there, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone better to help you recover. ‘Bright and cheerful’ is her default state of being, with an undercurrent of gentle snark and fond bickering to keep things interesting.

There’s one slight problem with being the smallest in a family of titans: you’re expected to be the meek servitor. For a long time she told herself she was content with that role. After all, someone had to clean up the disasters they left in their wake. Why shouldn’t it be her? A lifetime spent at the bottom of the totem pole has left her prone to fawning and flattery. She’ll work herself half to death and never expect an iota of recognition for it- and the less said about her tendency to neglect her own well-being, the better. But playing the sniveling underdog never came naturally to her, and there’s only so much bending and scraping someone can take. Beneath all the agreeability and accountability there lurks a temper as hot as the heart of any star, and it’s just as liable to scorch the unwary. She’s got a keen wit and a sharp tongue on the best of days, but her lectures are the stuff of legend. Worse still are her ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speeches. Nothing stings more than knowing you’ve made someone who believes in you upset, especially when that belief is so very genuine.

Easily the smallest of her siblings, this little Zephyr’s got strength and speed entirely disproportionate to her size. Every inch of her seems carved from precious metal. Most of her feathers are some shade of gold, running the gamut from near-bronze to pale yellow-white and everywhere in between. The very tips of her pinions and tail are silver, a shade rarely seen from her rank. The crest atop her head was likely once the same color. It’s since been dyed a deep crimson that never seems to wash out.


Litany of Flame South
Speech: Bold #1d622e
Inspired by Vulkan

In the heat of battle it’s easy to lose sight of what you fight for. This South, however, has not made that mistake, and she’s made it her mission to see that you don’t either.

‘Kindness’ is a painfully under-appreciated trait in her family. No one ever got around to telling her that, though. She’s openly and unabashedly good, the sort of person who extends a hand up or a hand out to anyone who needs it. Humanoid, shiny, sentient shade of the color purple- all are equal in her eyes, and thus all are deserving of kindness. You needn’t prove yourself to her. Leave such displays for her other siblings. She loves you as you are and expresses as much on the regular. If you need a hug or a shoulder to lean on, she’s your bird. And if you need an adventuring companion, you need look no further: she delights in exploration and discovery, cheerfully throwing her considerable might behind whatever task comes to hand. No job is too small or too humiliating for her. In fact, she seems to entirely lack the ego that all but defines the rest of her family. It’s made her humble, atypically so, and one of the few of her siblings who can take a joke. Better yet, she can make them too, poking fun at all and sundry with a shocking lack of fear of retaliation. It says something about her quiet confidence, really, that she can make fun of her siblings and walk away unscathed. She’ll encourage the same in those she meets, hoping to someday elevate everyone else to the same level as her. ‘Encouraging’ is a good word for her, really; much as she loves to share her fondness for geology and metallurgy, she loves learning about others’ interests just as much. You’ll never meet a better audience than her- so long as you don’t get her talking about fire.

Alas, the kindness that is her trademark is a double-edged sword. She believes the best in others, fully expecting they’ll follow the same rules of honorable engagement she herself adheres to. Betrayal never quite loses its sting for her, nor will she ever excel at guarding against it. She wants people to be as good as she is, wants to find the sliver of light in every heart, but cannot accept that sometimes there simply is no silver lining. Sometimes evil is just evil. Sometimes cruelty is just cruelty. She’s wasted countless hours on those undeserving of her time or attention, and she’ll undoubtedly spend more in the future. On a stranger note, fire seems to hold some strange dominion over her. She’s fascinated by it, drawn to it as if she were a moth rather than an eagle larger than most houses. It’s resulted in more singed feathers than she cares to admit- and yet, she can’t seem to tear herself away. Light a match and watch her lean in, eyes wide and glassy, entranced far longer than she should be. The unscrupulous have used this to their advantage- and her bondmate will have to take care around anything flammable, lest her fondness for all things fiery result in tragedy.

A stout and solidly-built creature, she’s so squared off around the edges it’s a wonder she can fly at all. Each feather on her body is green, though the precise shade runs the gamut from milky jade to forest so dark it’s nearly black. Each individual feather is edged in black. In areas where her feathers are smallest- her upper legs and face, for example- this makes her look nearly carved from obsidian. Elsewhere she looks girded in viridian scales- those of a dragon, perhaps, or the salamander of legend. Her eyes, on the other hand, burn an appropriately fiery shade of orange.

Whispers of the Grave Mistral
Speech: Italic #171717
Inspired by Corvus Corax

There are some who insist ignorance is bliss. They’ve clearly never met this Mistral, for whom denial of information is a weapon of pants-shitting terror.

At first flush it’s easy to overlook him. After all, he’s just a Mistral, as dull as his feathers and just as easy to overlook. This un-remarkability gives him anonymity, and he’s forged it into his greatest weapon. You see, he’s a scant half step behind his genius of a West brother, but his intellect comes paired with a heaping dose of plain old common sense. He’s smart enough to execute cunning plans if he needs to, but wise enough to abort them if the odds turn against him. That’s not to say he’ll accept such odds, of course. A strong believer in ‘waste not, want not’, he’s a dab hand (claw?) at wringing advantage out of nothing. Give him an inch and he’ll manufacture a mile, turning whole worlds on their heads to benefit those under his protection. And really? Beneath the gruff and the bluster and the really terrible emo poetry... he’s not a bad bird. A little grim, a little sharp around the edges, but he cares more than he lets on. Expect him to show it in small ways: rearranging your schedule to make sure you’ve got time to recharge, scaring off that irritating bill collector, and maybe, just maybe, putting the fear of the dark into anyone dumb enough to hurt you.

Because, for better or worse, he’s very good at the whole ‘putting the fear of dark into people’ thing. A dab hand at moving unseen and unnoticed, he’s built up a thriving life in the shadows. Information brokering, thievery, racketeering... you name it, he’s probably done it, though he’s notoriously mum on the topic. Perhaps it’s for the best that he’s a consummate professional; cunning and underhanded though he may be, he’s careful to limit the scope of his illicit activities. The spy network that gets noticed is no spy network at all, and he’s worked too hard to give up all he’s built. This meticulous self-control tends to waver whenever abuse of power rears its ugly head. He holds a deep and bitter grudge against tyrants and despots and works tirelessly to dethrone them wherever they might hide. And if he just so happens to embarrass or terrify them in the process, well... that’s just how his particular brand of vigilante justice works. He’s not about to apologize for bettering the world.

A deceptively average creature, he’s simply... black. Plain, boring, rather drab coal black. His color is completely unwavering from beak to talons. Even his eyes are black. The only remarkable thing about him is his size: he’s every bit as giant as the rest of his siblings, though he’s mastered the art of appearing much smaller.

Blood on the Ice Tempest
Speech: Bold #8db7b8
Inspired by Leman Russ

When you’ve got a hammer everything looks like a nail, and if you ask him, the world’s chock full of nails. It’s his job to bang every one of them flat, and he takes an almost unholy glee in doing precisely that.

There’s not a whole lot of nuance to this Tempest. What you see is basically what you get. He’s an upfront, no-holds-barred kind of guy, perfectly aware of what he is and disinclined to change it. Then again, why should he? He’s one of the biggest and baddest birds on Planet. He’s proven that a dozen times over and has the scars to prove it. Why mess with perfection? It’s so much more fun to drink and flirt and hit everything that gets in his way really, really hard. True to form, he’s really, really good at all of those activities. You’d have to search far and wide to find a more naturally talented fighter, and he’s had a lifetime to hone that inherent skill into brutal expertise. The sheer joy he takes in living his admittedly-hedonistic life is infectious, too. It’s hard to watch him charge through daily life and not feel something for the big brute of a bird. Sure, that ‘something’ might be stark raving terror, but he’s not about to let something that trivial ruffle his feathers. Fear is almost as good as reverence in his books, and he thrives on a steady diet of both.

Every bit as harsh as the tundras he’s so fond of, he lives by the law of ‘nature, red in tooth and claw’. Violence isn’t the solution; it’s the question, and his answer is always ‘more’. More bloodshed, more fighting, more destruction, just more- and if you can’t keep up, you’re just another obstacle for him to tear down. He’s got a deep and vocal distaste for magic and technology, viewing both as tools the weak use to hamper the strong. If you need such crutches to keep going you’re just delaying the inevitable, and he’ll pull no punches when telling you as much. It’s an opinion that’s won him few allies among the outer world and more than a little scorn from other leaders. While he looks down his beak at anyone he views as lesser-than- and let’s be real, almost everyone is ‘lesser-than’ in comparison to him- he saves a special enmity for his West brother. The bad blood between them is old and deep and all the stronger for it. Given half a chance he’d take matters into his own talons and settle the feud once and for all. It’ll be up to his bondmate, poor fool that they are, to keep his more murderous impulses in check.

A great hulking bear of an arathli, there’s something primal, almost primeval about his build. Maybe it’s the shaggy feathers, or the fierce ice-blue eyes, or the half-crouched way he holds himself ready to spring.The most likely culprit, however, is his coloring: he’s the standard Tempest mix of greys and whites, laid out in a pattern indistinguishable from a wolf’s. His belly is white, his back and wings heavily ticked with black, and those unnervingly pale eyes of his are surrounded by a distinctive mask.

She Who Goes Before Chinook
Speech: Bold #e95353
Inspired by Horus

It’s hard being the firstborn in any family. It’s a lot harder being the firstborn in a family as chaotic and influential as hers. The struggle to fit that role- to make her father proud, to outdo her siblings, to find some small measure of inner peace- has come to define her in ways she’d rather not examine too closely.

You see, she wasn’t always the ‘first among equals’ she’s become. Once she was the only, heir apparent and sole focus of her father’s attention. He trusted her to someday rule in his stead, and she thrived on his regard. But nothing gold can last, and such was the case with her time in the sun. Her siblings came along, tore her birthright out from under her, and she never really recovered from that blow to her psyche. A deeply uncertain creature, she has spent her life chasing the shadows of what once was. She’s gone to such great lengths to hide her inner turmoil that she’s finally succeeded. No one sees the depths of her self-doubt or self-loathing. This in turn has all but assured that when she needs someone- as she so desperately does now- she’ll have no one to turn to.

On the surface she seems every bit as perfect as her angelic East brother. She manages to strike a careful balance between brute strength, raw intellect, and effortless charisma. More frustrating still, she makes that precarious balancing act look effortless. ‘Never let them see you sweat’ seems to be her mantra; a deeply private creature, she keeps her thoughts and emotions to herself, rarely letting others see the complex machinations chugging away just beneath the surface. And oh, her schemes are a thing of beauty! Every plan is carried out with an efficiency and alacrity that’s awesome to behold. She’s got a knack for making things work, no matter how impossible they might seem, and it’s earned her a degree of grudging respect from her myriad siblings.

But beneath that carefully-constructed facade of perfection, she’s not okay. No matter how she tries to convince others- or herself, for that matter- she’s flawed and fearful right down to her bones. She yearns for acceptance, for belonging, for the vulnerability she has no idea how to express. It’s made her isolationist and dismissive on the best of days, viciously cruel on the worst. She can’t bring herself to admit that others might be better, that she has problems she isn’t dealing with, and lashes out at any and all who dare broach the topic. (Or simply get in her way.) Deep down she knows she’ll never be what she thought she was destined to be. She simply can’t find a way to move on from the dreams- delusions?- of her youth. And so she limps on in a half-life, a smile plastered on, steadfastly ignoring the terror and self-loathing that roils in her heart. After all, she’s made it this far. She’ll be damned- maybe quite literally- before she lets anyone else see just how weak she is.

Striking even for a Chinook, she’s a creature of rich colors and stark contrasts. Purple covers her back and shoulders, a royal cape for the arathli that would have been queen. Deep gold edges that ‘cloak’ and spills out over the back of her wings. From there it’s a free-for-all, her wings a watercolor blur of pinks and lavenders and oranges. Her underside is a pastel wash of the same color palette. Her eyes are the vibrant blue of a tropical sea, striking a sharp contrast to her pastel-pale crest.


The White Wind Boreas
Speech: Italic #e1e0dc
Inspired by Jaghatai Khan

If you can’t escape your problems, you aren’t going fast enough. Hold on tight and maybe, just maybe, she’ll help you get there.

There are a lot of big personalities in her family. She isn’t one of them. She’s a quiet presence, not necessarily gentle but somehow undemanding. You needn’t put on airs when she’s around; in fact, she’d vastly prefer you didn’t. Honesty matters a great deal to her, whether that’s being true to yourself or open with what you desire. Make yourself clear, live your truth, stand for what you believe in, and you’ll find a friend in this most distant of birds. Her friendship is, like everything else about her, simple and uncomplicated, but it comes with a veritable storm of unexpected boons. She’s deceptively intelligent, you see, well aware of everything that goes on around the weyrd, and is all too happy to put you in touch with the people you need to get things done. Perhaps it’s a good thing she’s chronically disinterested in leadership or power; her understated way of getting shit done could topple regimes if she put her mind to it. Instead she chooses to exert her authority in smaller but perhaps more personally important ways: ensuring those under her auspices are treated well, that their secrets are kept, and that always, always, she has room to spread her wings and chase the horizon.

Much like her Tempest brother, this Boreas lives by the law of ‘might makes right’. Just about any problem can be solved through the judicious application of either speed or brute strength. Over the course of her life she’s learned to wield both like the weapons they are. This preference for brutality has made her decidedly unpopular among more civilized types- and make no mistake, it absolutely is ‘brutality’. She’s not much for the meticulous planning of her kin, much preferring to charge headlong into situations and figure herself out on the way. Other leaders tend to disapprove of her tactics, such as they are, and she views their political posturing with equal disdain. When you get right down to it she doesn’t really get people. They’re complicated, using too many words and asking her to deny too much of her nature. Flying and fighting- her two great passions in life- require no such contortions. Small wonder she’ll happily blow off every societal expectation if it means spending one extra minute on the wing.

It’s only fitting that a speed freak as dedicated as this one would be sleek. A lifetime on the wing has stripped every ounce of fat from her atypically slight frame, leaving her pared-down and honed sharp. Add in long, tapered wings and you’ve got a creature perfectly suited to breaking airspeed records. Her feathers are the standard Boreas white, banded with opalescent streaks of blue, green, and purple. These colors are most heavily concentrated across her back, forming a pair of ‘racing stripes’ tracing from the base of her beak all the way down to her tailfeathers.

[Owl]

And more mine!

[Boone]

When a giant eagle comes a knockin’, askin’ for help, you oblige.

Or so had been Boone’s thought process. He gripped his hat tightly in his hand, balancing on the strange Zephyr’s back as easily as if he’d done it all his life. He had, in a sense. He learned to ride almost as soon as he could walk, but that was on a horse not the largest eagle he’d ever seen. If he hadn’t been so distracted being in the air, Boone might’ve been proud of himself as to how well he translated the skill.

The sensation of flying above the ground, however, was, well, it was a lot. It was mesmerizing, awe inspiring, intoxicating, and even a bit unsettling. After all, sailing through the air with a horse usually meant you were going land very abruptly and be a bit sore for the next few days. This wasn’t like that though. He didn’t need to brace for impact. No, it was more like galloping across an empty plain. Just. With a view, so to speak.

It was certainly more impressive than the place they arrived, to the cowboy at least. Birds flocked. Now, these were very big birds, but that sort of thing was just in their nature. And the marble? Just fancy, well-worn rock. It was nothing so exciting as flying for a man who’d lived his life up until now with two feet on the ground.

Boone replaced his hat and thanked the Zephyr kindly for delivering him in one piece before taking a set amongst those starting to fill the amphitheater. He imagined more instructions would be coming soon, probably once more help arrived, and he wasn’t wrong. But those instructions? Ancient enemies? Rifts between worlds?

“Well, that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” the cowboy muttered, more to himself than anything.

[Cyprena Sevenius]

Cassini refused to say a single word, at first. When the drums began to beat and Ren tried to figure out what it said, the South, still slightly strained from the antiques of the crumbling mountain, did not want to say much about it. She was grown, Ren didn't know exactly how big she'd get eventually, but the turian hardly even wanted to get close to the feathered shiny because guilt continued to pang in her. She could fly fine now, but the injuries at first restrained her from taking off in the open freedom that she craved.

The self-loathing that Ren had felt after that was familiar, round and heavy in the pit of her stomach, like a heavy stone that she couldn't let go of. But Cassini did not fly away when she was able. She did fly short distances at first, but she always came back. The strain in her muscles was mirrored into a sort of strain in their bond, but as her wings healed, the bond returned, quietly, to normal.

It was in neither of their natures to hold a grudge.

So when Cassini decided not to say anything about this King of the arathial, Ren didn't even ask. She didn't ask Cassini if she wanted to come (she didn't ask anyone to come actually, bringing one of the others sounded… dumb) and Cassini didn't offer to come in return. The wordless respect they had was mutual, and Ren felt a sense of peace return, warm and familiar.

Fastforward[/u] a bit and Ren got onto the Zephyr's back clumsily, as she hadn't really grown accustomed to mounting an arathli exactly, and while she struggled to keep her balance climbing on, she felt comfortable on the Zephyr's back. It was kind of unlike her past experiences, spaceships and giant avians were in two completely planes of existence (pretty literally) but somehow, it felt like Ren knew exactly what she was doing.

That knowing faded pretty quickly once they were up in the air, but at least she had felt it.

The fanfare of the whole thing, though fanfare seemed a bit too upbeat, was something that Ren was absolutely not expecting. Like, king, yeah sure, but there was apparently a queen around too and Ren kind of doubted the queen could do all of this (she was thinking of Haelys). The legions of arathlial were both exciting and a little frightening (they're frickin' huge!) at least, and the entire setting, the place they were in was, well, pretty incredible. Ren had seen some amazing things in her ties on different planets, but never quite something like this. Until the King started to speak.

That was more familiar.

Then the entire scenario turned a little more sinister. Not from the King, necessarily, but the scenario itself. Ren had gone on rescue missions before, but she couldn't recall a time that they had involved children. The King seemed pretty old (but who was she to judge the appearance of an arathli, honestly) so she couldn't guess how old his children were but… the desperation of the situation seemed to speak for itself.

Ancient enemies, a concept she was unfortunately vaguely familiar with, as well as rifts between worlds (rifts was probably not the word she would have chosen), but this wasn’t entirely what Ren had signed up for. She looked like she was listening very intently, but in reality, she was gazing up at the East, wondering if she could hop on the back of the Zephyr she had come here on, like the person who didn’t get off the ski lift at the top of the mountain (or something like that, she had been told). She was very not qualified for this anyway, that had to count for something right? Weren’t there people for this kind of thing?

[Fr. Clarence]

Father Clarence was seriously debating a career change. It was one thing being ask for help on Earth, but it was a whole different story here on Planet. In the weyrd, things ended up being a whole hell of a lot more involved than holding a prayer service or helping out with some kind of charity drive. It was exhausting. And the only thing he could really think about while the old Arathli and his two remaining children were going on.

Honestly, the priest sort of mentally went fastforward through the conversation until the mention of rifts to other worlds. That was a kind of magic Clarence knew nothing about and made this whole having to help out because he was a kindly priest bit just a smidge better. The promise of reward didn’t matter much. He’d likely have to turn it down for appearance’s sake. But rifts? Think of the places he could go, the things he could learn. Heaven, hell, purgatory, Clarence could visit them all.

He did his best not to look excited and waited for the next step, for the rifts, slightly less mentally exhausted than he had been at the start.

[Haelys Celtaris]

The great thing about living in a castle was that there were watchtowers. The main problem—aside from the fact that they were only partially built at the moment—was that there were no watchers to post in the towers. So when a Zephyr came visiting the castle, it wasn't until she pecked on the giant front doors that anyone knew she had arrived.

It was a shame, really, because Haelys's plan for the day was to hibernate in the amazingly comfortable bed she had just recently purchased. Her head rested against pillows filled with the softest feathers (don't worry—it's probably not Arathli feathers...), elegant duvet nestled up to her chin. Her eyes began closing just as:

BAM! Iaris busted through her bedroom door, claw pointing in the direction of the entrance hall.

You have a visitor!

Although Haelys was bonded to an Arathli, she had never ridden atop one. In fact, beyond the mild wind manipulation that Embrose would occasionally toy with, Haelys did not know the extent of their potential powers. So when the Zephyr told her to get dressed, gear up, and hop on, the human queen was more than hesitant.

Oh, yes, if the king of the veldt requires assistance, I'd like to request that we oblige, please. Apparently Embrose knew more of Northern Veldt politics than she did. Besides, since Haelys did enjoy having information on as many important happenings around the weyrd as possible (you never knew when there would be an opportunity to profit...), she complied with her Chinook's request.

The ride was swift and emotionally uncomfortable for somebody who had never been in the air before and did not know how much to trust this stranger Zephyr. To say the least, Haelys clung low and tight to the giant bird's back. When her white boots hit the grassy ground, she was incredibly relieved. Embrose was likely on her way over, but it would take the Chinook longer to arrive.

More prepared for adventure than she used to be, Haelys was wearing pants today rather than a dress. Sure, they were white, as was her simple but elegant shirt, but her legs were not concealed by layers and layers of fabric as they usually were. Her tetsubo was strung across her back and her whip was coiled and attached to her belt loop. As always, there was a small knife hidden somewhere on her body. Even her hair was rolled up in a tight, clean bun.

The amphitheater was beautiful—how had she never had the pleasure of seeing this before? Even more striking were the masses of Arathli swirling about. She had never seen so many. Perhaps this was worth getting out of bed for. Queens never seem to get as much vacation as people think!

Haelys sat and listened, paying close attention to all that was said. She was locked in to participating at the mention of a reward. However, the rifts between worlds was also...intriguing. Truth be told, the woman had given up on her efforts of locating the portal. Not only was the task fruitless time and time again, but there had developed enough...distractions on Planet to keep her busy. She wouldn't get her hopes up, but she might at least gather some information on these rifts, if she could.

She was no warrior, but she was also no stranger to enemies and kidnapping and wars. She was a much stronger asset in the overarching plotting of such matters, but for now she would serve her role as one of the heroes or villains. After all, what side were they on? She didn't know the full story.

See? Even when Haelys did not have a hand in it, calamity and misfortune still occurred...

[Zebey]

Zebey’s interactions with Arathlial was strained, to say the least. Her Vulen was an annoyance at best. The barely-there avian was constantly harassing her, pulling pranks and even went so far as to nearly break her leg once. The drow had exploded at that particular stunt, causing an argument between the two ferocious enough to send the firelizards scattering. So when news arrived to the elf that Arathli in the grasslands were asking for help, and the drums rolled, she wasn’t sold on going to help. It wasn’t until Saesenth stepped in that she finally did. The drow dressed in her armor, with a deep maroon tunic and simple pants underneath. Her black cloak was draped over her shoulders and tied firmly behind her back. The hood was pulled up, and her bow placed across her chest.

She didn’t need the Zephyr’s ride. Not that she would ever ride upon Vulen’s back, but she arrived at the grasslands in quick time nevertheless.

The amphitheater was large and rather pretty, if one were into that. Zebey stepped onto the golden laced marble quietly and took a seat, near the back. She listened to both the East’s speech and watched the growing crowd at the same time. Her eyes swept past a face she didn’t recognize- he was dressed oddly, with a large hat- then Ren, someone she recognized but hadn’t actually spoken to. Also the Father, who seemed out of place here, honestly. Ah, and then there was the queen. The silver hair was hard to miss, but the elf only gave her a breath of consideration before her gaze went back to the East himself.

Rewind that speech a little. Now this was something she was used to. Kidnapping, battle, a rescue mission. Ancient enemies and a dying king’s last request. The drow took quick assessment of what she had with her. Some health potions, scrolls that she couldn’t use but had been holding onto for her party members… Bow, arrows, a dagger in her left boot. She had a potion of invisibility, too, along with one of ironskin. This should be sufficient, in order to get this job done. Slight excitement coiled in her chest, itching to just get on with it. Well, where were they going? The drow was ready, more ready than the rest of this lot, if she had to guess.

ooc.
Just Push this Button, Rewind.

[Tuk-tuk]

Tuk-tuk had been herded to the veldt by an exasperated Muqin. Theoretically had failed to properly communicate why this was important, but had at least communicated that it was important, and she was going to take it. Tuk-tuk trundled along on foot while the still-growing Arathlial glided overhead, preferring to skip twisting in order to stay near to her unreliable bonded.

The avian pair heard out the East King, and shared a look. Tuk-tuk asked what nobody else had, at least that he had heard. "Well where are they?" Sure sure, rifts, ancient enemies, but what world were they at though. The outer planes?

That means he'll go, if he's curious, Muqin informed the elder Arathli as reassurance.

[Owl]

One by one the heroes answered, and with each arrival the knot in the old king’s chest loosened. He had thought- no, he had feared- that his plea would fall on deaf ears. What weight did the words of a monarch carry outside of his realm, much less a monarch among shinies? And yet, what felt like half the village had risen to the occasion, and every one of them had come prepared for the worst. It was beautiful, inspiring, precisely the sort of occasion the bards would sing of for decades to come.

For the first time in years the aging East allowed himself the faintest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, these blessed strangers would succeed where he and his kin had failed.

(Apparently oblivious to the gravitas of the moment, the Zephyr and West had taken to bickering amongst themselves. This is a terrible idea, muttered the first. Of course it is, snapped the second, I’m the one who came up with it. No one so much as batted an eyelid at their squabbling. Apparently this was expected behavior from them.)

The amphitheater had nearly reached capacity by the time the last of the roving Zephyrs came home to roost. Poor unsuspecting bonding-goers would likely find themselves boxed in by a truly frightening number of golden birds. There must have been close to a hundred of them, and every last one seemed to be holding their breath. All eyes trained on the theater’s center, where two gold figures and one red waited for... something.

That something was apparently Tuk-tuk. His question was just blunt enough to make even the lord of the veldt snort a laugh.

An excellent question, and one I am unfortunately ill-equipped to provide. My son here- He nodded towards the West, who preened beneath his father’s gaze. -is the mystic among our number. He has done the vast majority of work on this particular project.

That was apparently the West’s cue to step into the spotlight. He did so with a showman’s flourish, clearly enjoying occupying center stage.

These portals connect to some form of pocket realm or sub-reality, not sufficient to maintain their own independent existence but still distinct from the real-space we currently occupy. Parasitic, if you wish to use such vulgar terminology. They contain extremely strong psionic polarization domains. Like an electric charge, but with more... metaphorical 'flavors' of charge. Such intense psionic concentrations can give rise to an emergent self-directing epiphenomenological awareness, a genius loci--a 'spirit manifestation,' to use crude layman's terms.

A beat, then: Try that again, without the psychobabble.

Without th- none of that was psychobabble! He rounded on his sibling with feathers puffed out, temper looming up out of nowhere. The Zephyr... didn’t even bother dignifying his tantrum with a reply. She merely shook her own feathers back into place and sidestepped around him, her mind already on the task ahead.

The point is, there’s something in each of those realms that doesn’t want us coming in. We’ve tried every avenue of attack and nothing, nothing has worked. It’s- it’s like they’re laughing at us every time we try and fail. So we’re asking you to try instead. Go in, kill whatever’s waiting for you, and bring back our family.

Yes, all of that! The West’s annoyance vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Right. He still had work to do. More to the point, he still had mad skills to show off. Now, stand back and watch a master at work!

For the span of a heartbeat nothing happened. Then, all at once, vibrant blue light filled the silent hollow. Glowing runes swarmed across the West’s feathers, rushing from his chest out to the very tips of his upraised wings. Some few of them peeled away from their originator, hovering briefly in midair before somehow dripping onto the white stone below. From there they rippled outwards, slow waves of azure light that filled every inch of the amphitheater. Shapes appeared amidst the light, angular forms that mimicked those still visible on the West’s feathers. One by one they descended upon lines engraved in the stone underfoot-

Lines that, once lit up with blue, aligned with the cardinal points of the compass.

Outwards the light flowed, unwavering, unstoppable, until four new colors joined the lightshow. To the north a raw red portal tore itself open. To the east its equal but opposite appeared, sickly green and somehow writhing. The westernmost point flared purple, a shade so saturated it felt somehow taunting. And down south... well, that hole in reality burned pink, pulsing like a heart beating two steps too fast.

The wash of blue faded, but the air of sheer victory rolling off its creator just grew brighter. The West did a most ungainly dance on the spot, totally oblivious to the embarrassment clear on literally everyone’s face. He’d need to hibernate after this, sleep off the worst of the psychic hangover, but for now? He’d won.

Take that, you inconveniently inaccessible emotional embodiments of the id. 

Well? He demanded, fairly vibrating with excitement on the verge of boiling over. What are you waiting for? Go on, get going! We haven't got all day!

---

((What I Need From You: Pick a portal and enter it. What portal you go into will determine what sort of emotional embodiment your character will be wrestling with. You'll get a chance to go into all the portals, if you're so inclined, so don't worry about one locking you out of another.

As a reminder, this bonding will close in two weeks! Come and get your birbs, people!

Just Making A Few Preparations, 'hibernate', 868 words.))

[Tuk-tuk]

Muqin sighed, something fond and wistful behind it that was covered up by an exasperated expression. She already understood, though she confirmed it with a nod with some of the others at first, that she would not be able to follow her charge through any more than the other Arathli had.

Go, she encouraged, I will be waiting to take you home.

Tuk-tuk, for all his chaos, seem to have cottoned on that there was something serious taking place, and had even been listening intently to the West as if he actually understood everything he was saying, which, who knows, maybe he did. Did anyone really know what Tuk-Tuk knew about before Whazzit?

When Muqin addressed him however he turned and likewise gave her a nod, looking solemn for a split second before gaping into a beaky grin. "Off we go!" he hollered, charging blindly into the pink Southern portal. Never fear, King Featherbrain, he'd hunt down the enemy and show them a thing or two.

(hunt, 168 words)

[Zebey]

The drow, as she listened to the birds’ speeches and their inner squabbles, decided that this species was very talkative. A lot of chatter, not much action. She supposed having a background to a situation was important, but as she sat there, fiddling with the hilt of the dagger on her hip, she was impatient to begin. This feeling threw her back to the days back in the World Wound, where she would slay bandits and demons and jump headfirst into quests. Was she out of practice now?

Finally, they were getting somewhere. When the portals appeared, Zebey stood. She watched as Tuk-Tuk headed into the pink portal without hesitation. This did not surprise her. Considering the short avian’s personality, jumping headfirst into the unknown was right on brand. She eyed the southern portal, before stepping down and heading towards the western purple portal. Without looking back at anyone, or glancing to the Arathli that had addressed everyone, she stepped inside.

[Cyprena Sevenius]

Ren watched as others that she recognized made their appearances, some that she was honestly pretty chill with and others that she wasn’t sure she wanted to have her back in any sort of dangerous mission. She both appreciated and winced at the bluntness of the bird-man (whom she was still baffled was alive, honestly), but was definitely more affected by the answer that came after it. Portals? Sub-realities? Ren probably understood more of the technical dimension than she cared to, it was just space-y enough really, but the second explanation was straight forward enough that she wanted to return to the inn and just hibernate until this was all over.

But she was trapped here now, wasn’t she, in a sense. With all of these others. She had been flown here and she could not fly back, even though she definitely did wonder if she could reach out to Cassini at any point and return. Devising any sort of escape plan was certainly futile.

Especially when the West started his light show. She watched, with bits of amazement, science she knew but magic was a whole ‘nother beast, and she sort of took a step back where she stood as all of the portals began to pop open. They were portals, weren’t they? This fact was only confirmed when she was told to choose one, and as she watched bird-man and mysterious huntress-lady both enter two different ones.

“Fuck it.” She grumbled, waiting her turn before heading into the red portal to the north. This better be good.

ooc, 259 words

[Fr. Clarence]

Clarence listened to the furthered instructions, face impassive. He would have liked to listen to more of that psychobabble as it had been called. It very much sounded like the start to the science behind the unfamiliar rift magic, but alas. Instead, the priest stepped into the portal to the east. Sickly green? Writhing? Definitely sounded right up his alley.

[David Bowie]

David frowned, concerned brown eyes lingering on the twin pairs of faceted ones watching him. Despite the short amount of time together, he was already anxious about the concept of being in another dimension from the Dragonlings. It was one thing to be separated by space; but by… Unknown measures of the universe? There was uncomfortable clench in his stomach that wasn't quite nausea.

«Go,» Brinleth encouraged softly, shuffling to bump against her Sulphur brother's side. «We'll be okay, as long as you're there.» Poth looked less sure, but the worried whirling of his eyes was offset by the affirmative nod of his head.

Nodding back once, he turned to the Arathlial, give them an out as well, and stepped towards the northern portal. His plan was simply to follow the compass directions. If he had a chance to come back. He'd find out.

Back ramrod straight, he passed through.

[Yjrn Mistwander]

It was strange to be so off-leash. Not that she didn't love her friends; she missed them dearly; but she had been The Warrior Of Light for so long that she was used to having a very explicit agenda. Whatever agenda was to be found on this strange shard had not yet revealed itself to her. In fact things were terribly peaceful, in a chaotic sort of way. The the flexible reality of nature here definitely indicated some kind of aetherial imbalance, but she didn't know enough to find out just what exactly was wrong. That kind of thing was often left up to the other Scions.

Yjrn moved between the strange boughs that yesterday had been apple trees and today appeared to be some kind of melon. Melons did not grow on trees, but that was the kind of imbalance she was working with around here. Overhead a giant bird passed by, far larger than any bird that she had ever encountered. It seemed as good a lead as anything else had lately so she followed it. She leapt easily between the trees, thankful at least that the bird didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, because despite her agility she wouldn't have been able to keep up with it flying full speed.

With time the boughs parted, and opened up to a field. In the distance a great stone amphitheatre stood, worn but functional. Yjrn was no archaeologist but she knew at least that ruins often held answers, and even more helpfully it would seem that the giant bird was disappearing into the amphitheatres depths. As she arrived at the foot of the building she drew her carbine cautiously, moving through hallways even as an elderly voice resounded throughout. He needed help. Lost family. There was a pang in Yjrn's chest as she quickened her pace towards the sound. Another voice, explaining in strange detail just what was happening. She knew enough of the words to have a rough idea of what he was going on about, and she couldn't help but be reminded of Alexander. She returned the carbine to it's holster as she finally emerged back into the sunlight to find-

Well, to find more birds. It would seem it was the birds asking for help. And an eclectic group of personages like herself seemed prepared to offer help. That was good, at least, if this was as dangerous as the avians implied. She was used to working with other adventurers. Her eyes scanned them as they dispersed, passing through portals one by one. The north caught her attention, but seemed to be covered by a rough looking man and a... she wasn't sure what to call that but it looked capable. A bird charged to the south, but seemed equipped with a hammer. A rogue passed silently to the west. And to the east passed... an unarmed civilian? That was concerning. Her brow furrowed and she gripped her gun again, looking up to the king she offered him a salute. "Till sea swallows all." She offered him by way of reassurance, and then passed into the green portal behind Clarence.

[Being Sung By A Choir; Boughs; 535 Words]

[Haelys Celtaris]

Haelys listened to the West's explanation intently, attempting to soak up every word. While she didn't easily have a grasp on what a 'pocket realm' or 'sub-reality' truly was, she did at least feel like she could understand the gist of it. These portals did not sound like the portal that had brought her (or all the others) here. Her glimmer of hope for discovering something relevant to bringing her back home was dimming, but the promise of reward kept her invested. Well, that and the hundreds of giant birds currently surrounding them.

And theeeeen the West lost her.

Haelys considered herself an intelligent person—and truly, she was. However, the world she had lived the majority of her life in did not educate her on technology or portals or advanced science. Her world was based on different mechanics and different priorities. The feeling of being so...confused about an explanation was frustrating to her. Her brain strained to understand some of the West's words. And she certainly would do her research as soon as she could get back to the library. (For the record, she very much missed having people look things up for her and teach her. The fact that she had to do her own research was annoying, but necessary.) Better yet, perhaps the West could break it down for her further if she felt humble enough to ask later.

Kill.

That was an instruction? The woman smirked and huffed, scoffing that the supposed righteous heroes were being instructed to kill.

And they wanted to judge her for the Dragon attack? Hypocrites. Everyone liked to make up their own storyline in which they were the good guys. But Haelys knew better than that. There was no black and white when it came to morality—only the powerful and the weak.

The show the West put on was impressive. Haelys found herself wondering what other powers the Arathlial held. As far as she knew, Embrose had no powers, or at least none that she was aware of. As if the thought had tethered her closer, the Chinook appeared.

Thinking of me? There was a sweetness to her tone.

The concept that creatures had tendrils in her mind was still mildly unsettling to the human queen, if only due to the way she typically guarded many of her thoughts. The woman smirked just slightly, eyes fixed on the portals as they opened, but feeling that Embrose was nearby.

"Indeed. Are you honored?" The woman teased aloud as people were getting up and moving to the center of the amphitheater. Naturally, she lagged behind. If anybody was going to march into the portals first, it wouldn't be her. She wanted to make sure dismembered bodies weren't going to be immediately thrown back out before she stepped forward.

Haelys slowly approached the colored entry points, examining them with curiosity. Embrose was happy to greet any of the other Arathlial that paid her any mind. The woman looked to the Chinook.

"Perhaps I will have an interesting story for you when I return."

I can't wait! Her voice was cheery with a jolt of excitement.

The woman would likely have chosen the purple portal. However, she had also noted who had already entered each portal and there was no way she was going to follow Zebey to some other reality. After all, why would she risk a potential assassination attempt on herself? That left the other three. Out of those, the pink portal seemed the least threatening. Although looks could be deceiving, she would still take her chances. The downside was that rather than following a warrior who might contribute significantly to this battle, she was following the unpredictable bird-man. (Was he part raven? Partridge? Definitely not dove.)

She would gamble on crazy over murderous.

Calmly, the woman walked through the southern pink portal.

[Halrae]

Halrae considered herself a quick study, and she had learned something of the drums that rolled to announce everything around Planet. Granted, her understanding wasn't perfect yet, but it was enough to know where to go. Especially when she had a little help with things in the form of Drathir, the Kal'daka. Ever since their joining the drow wolf and drow had been tightly bonded together. Perhaps it was the heritage, perhaps it was the big canine's loyalty, but whatever it was it was there.

L'velnarin lar d'sreen, Drathir informed her as Halrae was sharpening her halbard out in front of her cottage; the two often spoke in drow to one another. Dos zhal'la alu. ((The drums call of danger. You should go.))

"Usstan nym'uerus mina, Drathir," Halrae confirmed as she put aside the whetstone. "Zhah ol nindel kleel?" ((I heard them, Drathir. Is it that urgent?))

Nind xuat belbau de'lu'mith, jhal gaer zhah natha batiny nindel mii'n q'elak zhah ssinssrinil. ((They don't give specifics, but there is a staccato that means speed is requested.)) Amber eyes locked onto ruby ones behind smoked glass. Though Halrae had reservations, she knew that look. Drathir was a stubborn one and though she knew she had his loyalty when he thought he was right about something even she couldn't stir him otherwise.

"Tenu," she simply said, standing and sheathing the weapon on her back. "Ori'gato uns'aa inbau ussta Ssa'ch." ((Alright. Let me get my backpack.))

Less than a quarter of an hour later the Kal'daka was racing off through the forest and out towards where the summons indicated with Halrae riding astride his back. For all that she had no idea what they were riding to Halrae had to admit to herself at least that there was a thrill running through her. It was almost like old times, riding off on an adventure with trusted companions.... even if those who ran at her side were only in her memory, and at the time she would've been riding on horseback instead of wolfback.

She spied their location long before they actually got there, but really, who could mistake it when there were such massive, giant eagles everywhere? They hadn't gotten too close when one of the flying eagles spied them and escorted them to the gathering crowd and let the pair have a glimpse of the eagle king and his two children.

"Reiyal tounle," murmured Halrae, and one of Drathir's ears turned back as he heard her. ((Quite impressive.))

Ves. Arathli, Usstan z'reninth, d'elezz nindel uss wun l'draix, l'zhuantur uss... xun dos inbau l'ul'hyrr nindel uk zhah foluss kleel? ((Very. Arathli, I believe, though that one in the center, the elder one... do you get the impression that he is someone special?))

"Usstan xun." They might have said more but just then the gathering commenced and the Golden Lord spoke. ((I do.))

And what he said had Halrae's mouth falling open in shock, and sending a surge through her of the old heroics that had once separated her from her darker kin in her not-too-distant past.

"Plynnet dalharen?" she whispered to herself, and Drathir by proximity. There was horror in her voice, especially when she understood that the father arathli didn't have much time left by the sound of things. Though she had no love for her own blood family she knew how valuable a true family could be. ((Kidnapped children?))

That sealed the deal.

With a small nudge of a knee and a mental thought Drathir carried Halrae towards the growing volunteers. Due to her late arrival she was somewhat in the back of the group understandably. The explanations of how all the rift-creation and about the prisons went clean over her head, too. That was not Halrae's forte.

But the gates were there, and that was all she needed.

Usstan inbal natha tejmook'cinkjuu nindel Usstan wo naut tlu izil ulu alu areion xuil dos, apologized Drathir as he came to a stop at the edge of the cluster. Nindol xal tlu natha malar dos xonathull maglust, 'zil ol zhahen. ((I have a feeling that I won't be able to go through with you. This may be a fight you wage alone, as it were.))

"Usstan kampi'un. Dorn tlu si." Halrae slid down the soft fur to the stone and examined the gates. People were going through all of them, so she gave a short laugh. "Al, a mzulst F'sarn naut aluin ulu tlu l'er'griff uss wun weth."  ((I understand. I'll be okay. Well, at least I'm not going to be the only one in each.))

With a moment more thought, she walked towards the western purple gate.

Purple had been the color of the first daylight sky she'd ever seen as a Chainbreaker. Hopefully the memory would be good luck.



*************

Translations done at the Chosen of Eilistraee Translator. Yeah, I just had to go and make this overly hard on myself lol!

[Owl]

Everyone

Relief, hope, well-disguised concern- these and more washed over the ancient East’s face in turn. Even having been handed an excuse to leave on a silver platter, none had. In fact, more had joined their number while his son and daughter had been explaining. Folk from across the weyrd and far beyond, from a dozen different backgrounds and for just as many reasons... they had stayed, indeed seemed ready to stay the course to its bitter end, and that was a gift he could never repay them for.

Another debt he’d go to the grave with. How many of those had he accumulated now? And what price would his children be forced to pay?

He shook his head, banishing his dark thoughts back to whatever shadow had spawned them. Events were out of his talons now. All he could do was watch as each brave soul ventured forward and hope against hope they would all return.

Be careful, all of you, and be well.

The Red Portal: Wrath - Ren and David
In many ways Ren and David had chosen the least complicated of the portals. The moment they stepped through its swirling crimson surface they would be assailed by a single, inescapable emotion: wrath. Anger hit them like a tidal wave and just. Kept. Coming. The rage of a parent defending their offspring, the righteous fury of a soldier laying down their life for a cause, the frothing frenzy of an animal caught in a trap- it was all there, an inexhaustible wellspring of mankind’s oldest and most primal sin.

The realm they’d found themselves in was every bit as chaotic as the emotion that dominated it. Great clouds of crimson whirled in every direction, thick as mud and twice as likely to choke the unwary. Shapes moved within them, half-realized and somehow blurred around the edges. One moment hulking hounds snapped at the heels of fleeing harts. The next armored soldiers thrust their spears towards the sky. They too dissolved, reshaping into alien hexapeds more suited to Palaven than to Planet.

Something- the ‘genius loci’ of this strange red realm, perhaps?- abruptly strode from that storm of color. It was taller than the rest, somehow more real, and every step it took sent shudders through the half-world around them. Step by step it closed in, and with every step details fell into place. Four arms, hooved feet, curved horns taller than a man, armor caked with the blood of a thousand battles-

It could only be called a demon, and the sword it aimed at the intrepid adventurers burned, appropriately enough, with hellfire.

What do you know of anger? The avatar’s voice matched its appearance, full of sharp edges and far too many pointy bits. Show me. Prove your worth, or be proved worthless.

The mist closed in around them, and in its depths new shapes took form, recreating scenes from Ren and David’s past- scenes that centered on moments of wrath.


The Purple Portal: Pride - Zebey and Halrae
Two drow walk into a bar portal... and probably immediately wish they hadn’t.

Something significantly less... straightforward awaited them beyond the purple portal. Oh, there was purple mist and creeping shadows, all the stuff you’d expect of a netherrealm shaped by the unconscious, but no obvious threat leaped out to confront them. Instead they’d feel the strangest sensation of prickling in their minds. Something was rifling through their heads, tugging on all the threads and tangles that made up the mind of a drow. Whatever it found there, it seemed to approve of it, for the whole plane abruptly filled with delighted laughter.

Ooooh, and what have we here? The banks of fog parted, revealing... well, it looked almost human! Just... a human made by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what a human was supposed to look like. Its limbs were too long, its torso too slender, its skin gleaming oily in the eerie purple glow, and- were those tentacles worming into the air above its head? Or was that another trick of the ever-shifting light? But strange lighting couldn’t quite explain the way the thing seemed to... twist and warp every time the poor drow looked away.

Friends! Their apparent tormentor clapped its spidery hands, wicked glee jangling in its sickly-sweet tone. Have you come to play with me? Oh, I’ve been so hoping someone would! I spent aaaalll this time setting all of this up, you know~ It would be a shame if no one ever got to appreciate my hard work! But come, come! Step into my parlor~ We can have a lovely little chat, and then... well, who knows~

Stringy, slimy pseudopods rose up from the ground, herding Halrae and Zebey away from the portal and towards certain doom. They stayed there, too, keeping the two uncomfortably close to the monstrosity grinning down at them.

You’re the adventurous types, aren’t you? The slimy, smiling creature draped an arm over either drow’s shoulder with an air of somehow unwholesome friendliness. You have to have some stories to tell, yeeees? Tell me aaaaallll about your victories, darlings! I want to know what makes your hearts sing~ What’s your proudest moment? Your lowest one? Tell me tell me tell me!

Plumes of fog billowed in from nowhere, gradually resolving in familiar settings and familiar faces all centered around pride.


The Green Portal: Sloth - Clarence and Yjrn
The red portal was full of movement and life, but the green? It... wasn’t. At all. Yjrn and Clarence stepped into a realm that almost seemed to be sleeping. Green fog stretched off in every direction, but it lay all but unmoving, content to drift slowly along at knee height. No figures stirred in those verdant depths. No mental assaults came to knock the two off their feet. For a dozen heartbeats all was still and silent inside the green portal.

And then, from far off in the distance, there came the unmistakable sound of a snore.

A snore that rattled and bubbled and wheezed on the exhale, but a snore all the same.

Following their ears led Clarence and Yjrn to what they might initially mistake as a particularly lumpy hill. It was giant, easily fifty feet from end to end, and covered in something disquietingly fuzzy. Mold, they would discover when they got closer. The thing was covered from stem to stern in an overgrowth of green mold. Innumerable somethings squiggled and writhed just beneath that outermost layer, things with too many legs that dove inward the moment the intruders came close enough. Perhaps their flight awoke their host. A gloopy sort of snort came from somewhere within the mass and then, all at once, it jerked upright.

Oh. Visitors. The realization took a moment. More than that, it seemed to surprise the bloated, sluglike being now blinking down at the unlikely pair of adventurers. Clearly it hadn’t expected its nap to be interrupted, least of all by people from the outside world! So he managed it after all. How... quaint.

The thing yawned, revealing rows upon rows of rotted tombstone teeth, and inched towards them at a snail’s leisurely pace. It seemed to be in no particular rush. ...or it simply couldn’t move any faster. The whole ‘not having legs’ thing made moving quickly a bit of a challenge.

Is there something you want? Strange, really, how mild a voice could come from so wretched a creature. Or did you-

Realization dawned, and that too-big mouth twisted in a slow smile.

You’ve come for our prizes, haven’t you? Hmm hmm hmm. Its laughter bubbled just as its snoring had. Such ambition! It must be exhausting, having that much fire in your heart. Wouldn’t it be easier to take a rest? You must have done it before... perhaps you could show me?

Then, at long last, the green mist surged. It swarmed the two adventurers, conjuring up images of people and places that once had been- moments full of sloth.


The Pink Portal: Lust - Tuk-tuk and Haelys
Last but not least came the queen and the crow, and oh, they’d unintentionally saved the worst for last. The world on the far side of the portal was every bit as luridly pink as the portal had been, but eye strain would prove the least of their worries. Perfume engulfed them the moment they stepped over the threshold. Sweet and spicy and strong enough to verge on cloying, it sunk into their every sense and made its home there.

Then and only then could the fun begin.

Magenta mist rolled in every direction, around cushioned divans and sumptuous piles of pillows that all but begged the two to take a load off. Around and atop them were a veritable bevy of humanoid figures. Male, female, both, neither, some combination of the above- there was something for everyone amongst the spectres, and all of them rose the moment they spied Haelys and Tuk-tuk. Soon a hundred ethereal hands were reaching for them, clinging to clothes and feathers and whatever else they could get a grip on. Couldn’t they stay, just for a moment? They’d make it worth their while...

There you are, my dears. I was starting to fear you’d never arrive. The illusory crowds parted, and from the painfully pink depths of the realm came a figure more striking than any other. They were tall and slender and achingly beautiful, an impossible balance of masculine strength and feminine elegance. Every movement was effortlessly graceful, every syllable rich with warmth and welcome, every fiber of their being somehow perfect-

But ‘perfect’ applied to both people and neurotoxins, a duality that bled through with every infuriatingly perfect movement.

This monster in pink was drop dead gorgeous, in every possible sense of the phrase, and the gleam in their fiendishly pink eyes suggested they knew it.

Please, dear hearts, come sit with me awhile. All of this- They waved a languid hand, indicating the pleasure palace around them. -is yours for the taking. But first... how would you change it? What would you rather have? Or, rather, what have you had in the past? Share with me, my lovelies, that I might share with you~

The mist closed in, and with it came images of what once had been, all of them dripping with lust.

---

What I Need From You: Have your character re-live a situation from their past. This can be any situation you feel like writing about, so long as it relates to the ‘sin’ attached to each portal. (And feel free to use a pretty loose interpretation of each sin- lusting after power works just as well as lusting after a person.) The mist in each portal can be reshaped to provide whatever people, places, and things you need to make that happen. Powerplay it to your hearts content!

The avatars in each portal don’t care that your character conquers the sin in question, just that they face it. There's no way for your character to fail this challenge. Just write something that interests you and we'll make it work!

If you have any questions on how this works, feel free to either tag me in Discord or send me a message here. <3 I know this format’s a bit funky, so thank you for bearing with me!

This bonding is now closed. (mostly because I’m gonna have a hard enough time keeping track of everyone as is!)

Elemental, My Dear Watson, 'air', and Being Sung By A Choir, 'silent', 1727 words.